


Trost

by Ayden



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, GOREPORN, Gore, Graphic Violence, Guro, IM TYPING IN CAPS SO YOU ARE WARNED PROPERLY, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1738304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayden/pseuds/Ayden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annie finds Mina after the Trost battle and says goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trost

**Author's Note:**

> Note to self:  
> Forensic majors and fanfic do not mix!!!

There is chaos everywhere, the air filled with the stench of rotting flesh of human and titan alike. In it lingers the acrid smell of gunpowder and smoldering fires. It’s suffocating.

She can taste it on her lips and tongue, this sickeningly sweet, metallic odour of blood, death, and decay.   
She doesn’t watch her step, and stumbles.

 _I’m so sorry,_ she whispers. _I’m so sorry. So, so sorry._

Over and over she says it, but only the dead can hear her.

She is missing half an arm, her friend. Her one and only true friend; the only one she’s made during her days of training. 

_Friendship is not part of the plan._

Annie falls to her knees, reaches out to cup her face. Mina. 

Even in death she is beautiful. 

_What have we done?_

Mina is covered in blood, her chest split open. One can see ribs poking through torn flesh and muscle, and her sternum. As if something’s bitten down on her, but not quite through her. She is almost in one piece still, even though her entrails are lying bared to the world.  
Her hair ties have got loose, too—why she notices something as insignificant, Annie cannot say—and her hair, almost as dark as Mikasa’s, is spilling behind her. It’s caked with blood and something slimy, something chunky. 

Strangely enough, her face is unmarred for the most part. Only her lips look faintly darker, and there is a small, crimson trickle—now dried up—running down her chin.

She’s still warm. Warm from the titan who devoured her. Not as warm a living human being, but warmer than a corpse still. Her skin, some of it peeling, is an unnatural tinge of red. It’s similar to that of a heavy sunburn, and stemming from the heat of the liquid found in a titan’s stomach. The titan itself lies not far from her, slowly dissolving, and ripped in half; its head bashed into a bloody pulp. 

_Was it you? It must have been you. Eren._

They are to patrol Trost for survivors, but there won’t be any. She knows this. She has wandered the streets for hours. Trost. There is no solace left in Trost. Just a few houses down, around the corner, there is Marco. Well, half of him, to be exact.

Mina and Marco. They’re the only ones she’s come across so far who are not beyond recognition. The streets, littered with countless body parts, they offer the most gruesome puzzle imaginable.

Annie bends forward and presses her cheek to the dead girl’s. She’s never told her the truth, never told her that she felt for her more than what is appropriate for a girl to feel for another. 

_Love is not part of the plan._

Easy to say, isn’t it? For those who either have it, or aren’t part of the plan.   
This is why she hates Reiner and Bertholdt. She hates them from deep within her heart.  
They have friendship. They have each other. They have love.

And what does she have? A dead girl who never knew her true feelings, lying broken to her feet, with her guts spilling out.

_We did this.  
I did this._

Trembling, she grabs Mina’s hand, and pulls. Rigor mortis has yet to set in, her corpse limp and heavy. As she pulls, she can hear flesh tearing, and something else that is terrifyingly close to bones snapping. Annie pauses, but then resumes to drag her friend toward a small, abandoned side street, which is cluttered with shattered bricks and broken shingles. She leaves behind a macabre trail of slick and slimy crimson, and not all of it is blood. Once she sees it, she panics, tries to stuff Mina’s bowels back inside of her, where they belong. But they won’t stay put, keep slipping to the side again, and again. The sound of it makes her stomach churn.

She will never forget that sound. Moist. Slick. Squishy.

Frantic, Annie looks around, fearing someone might have seen her just now. But there’s no one there. Only death. Only the dead.   
As her eyes roam the street, something catches her eye. It turns out to be that thing she’s tripped over upon finding her friend. 

It is her missing arm. 

_No, no, no!_ This is not right. None of it is. She needs her arm, she thinks. Mina needs her arm. She cannot return her body incomplete, without her arm.

Shaking violently now, Annie jumps up and quickly fetches it. Of course, there is no way to put it back. It’s ripped and frazzled where it’s been bitten off, and there’s a bit of bone sticking out. And her friend is _dead._

Annie kneels beside her once more, cradling that arm. She refuses to let go of it. For a while she sits there, just watching; watching her best friend’s battered form.

_This is my doing. My fault._

Her lips find Mina’s bloodied ones. An apology? They remain unmoving, of course, coarse from dried blood and also something one better not think about.   
It is repugnant, almost makes her retch; the stench of death lingering about. But Annie does not flinch. She doesn't dare.

Her fingers are slippery and wet. Red. So red. Brushing through tresses of reddened hair. Red like her insides out.  
She uses those slippery, wet, red fingers and forces Mina’s jaws apart, tongue diving inside her mouth, to taste what is dead and was denied when still alive.

_She must say good-bye._

Carefully, she places Mina’s arm next to her. Her body moves on its own. Squishy, moist sounds fill her ears when she presses closer to Mina. They make her hair stand on edge, goosebumps rising all over her body.

What is she doing? Annie does not know what she’s doing.

She cannot help herself.   
She cannot stop.  
She’s never got to show her her love.  
She’s never got to feel her.  
This is her last chance.  
There won’t be another.

She refuses to acknowledge how the tattered edges of the dead girl’s shredded flesh appear to be almost half-cooked. She does not notice her entrails falling out entirely yet again when she bumps a knee into her by accident.

Annie wraps her arms around her friend’s limp form, presses herself flush against her. One of her legs entwines with Mina’s, and she can feel that it’s broken in a few places. Even her femur is fractured.   
It must’ve happened when Eren tore apart the titan that had eaten her.   
It’s a surprise the girl’s body is still in such a good condition, considering.

Memories of days gone by flood her thoughts. How she used to sit with Mina, and share her food with her when there was yet another shortage.   
The two of them training together. Sharing a tent when on bivouac.   
One such time she will always remember the fondest. It had been a stormy night, and Mina had been so afraid she’d curled up beside her. Even in sleep she’d still clung to her. She had only been twelve. Annie had been thirteen, but already back then she knew she was in love with the other girl.

Mina loved gazing at the stars, and even though Annie herself finds such a thing rather stupid and a waste of time, she’d joined her nonetheless.   
Mina used to tell her stories about the constellations, of myths from ages long forgotten. Only now she fully realizes she will never hear her voice again.

It had not been part of her own plan even to make friends. But along came Mina. Mina was the one who approached her while the other girls never even did so much as look at her. In the beginning, Annie believed she’d done so because the bunk next to hers was Mina’s, and that the girl was afraid of her. 

Where Annie is cold and distant, Mina always was warm and welcoming. Now, though, her body is slowly turning cold, her wide eyes empty, staring far ahead into nothingness, and it is Annie wanting for warmth and closeness. There is a strange heat taking ahold of her, one she cannot quite place.

She grabs dead Mina by her hip, wants to pull her closer. It seems to be dislocated, as it’s sort of wobbly, but Annie does not pay it any mind. She’s kissing her again, her own uniform turning dark and sticky with blood and other slimy fluids. One hand to the back of her head, she can feel large hole there. Dipping her fingers inside, she touches chunks of brain and skull, and a shudder runs through her.

Slick fingers steal under the tattered shirt of the girl’s uniform, seeking. She fondles one of her breasts, squeezes it lightly, and rolls her thumb over her nipple. It’s soft, yet it still feels off. Curiously, she runs her hand down her chest, senses the comparatively rough feel of her ribs on her fingertips and palm; a stark contrast to the tenderness of her flesh. A few of them are broken, their colour a blueish white. So bright. Amidst the surrounding crimson, it’s almost blinding.

Annie starts grinding against Mina’s thigh, grips her sides for support. Her hands slip, and sink into her entrails that are so pliable against her palms. 

She must have her as close as possible.   
She needs more friction.   
She needs to feel her. All of her.

Annie is fully aware of what she’s doing, knows it is horribly, horribly wrong.   
She knows she is desecrating her friend in a most horrifying way. But it’s as if she’s possessed.  
She’s done worse, though, hasn't she? Way, way worse. And she knows as much. 

Annie does not try to picture Mina alive. _She does not dare._

The heat filling her body now concentrates between her legs, turns into craving. There is a yearning deep inside her chest she knows will never be quenched. Violent sobs shake her, her whole form quaking.

It’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough.

Reaching beside her, she picks up Mina’s arm, avoids looking at the girl’s dead, empty eyes. It’s heavy. Much heavier than what one would expect by merely looking at it. Annie then sits up, straddling her thighs. Tears are streaking down her face, but they’re not the only fluid staining it. A cracking noise startles her when she yanks at Mina’s belt. Something just broke, so she tries again more carefully. Years of working with the 3D-Maneuver gear have honed her hands, too, her fingers skilled. She goes on to undo her own belt and zipper, before returning her attention to exploring the broken body underneath her.

Again, she palms the softness of her insides with one hand, laces her fingers with those of the hand belonging to the bitten off arm. Sliding down a little—another wet cracking noise—she bends forward and places small kisses all along her hips and where her belly should’ve been. One of Mina’s hipbones is protruding in a weird way, there’s a large, black bruise, too, but Annie does not care. 

Lips glistening with not just blood and spit, she gives the girl’s innermost a lick. The taste is strong, as is the smell, and it’s nauseating, yet she does not pull back.  
Again, something cracks, but it’s not Mina this time. It is something deep inside of Annie herself.  
She drags her lips and tongue upwards, rakes her teeth over her sternum. Lifting her hips just a little bit, she guides that arm, its hand, between her own legs and inside her trousers.

By now, Mina’s body is cold.

Annie is shivering,. She is burning up.   
She cannot contain a low moan when cold, lifeless fingers connect with the center of her need. Her own hand sets the pace. At first it’s slow, but it picks up soon. She’s already wet. She’s been wet for a while now. The slick sensation between her legs is not so unlike that of Mina’s guts and flesh covered in blood.

She feels dizzy, the world before her eyes spinning as she rocks against that hand. When she hears herself moan, she leans over and stifles it by nibbling and sucking on Mina’s throat.  
Many a night she’s lain awake, dreaming of doing these things with a living Mina. A Mina who would reciprocate, who would react to her touch, and not stiffen for rigor mortis has begun to set in at last.

It seemed like ages ago, not just two days ago, where she’d woken up next to the girl who will never know she loved her.

Then again, she’ll never know that, right now, Annie is fucking herself on her rigid, dead fingers either. Annie chokes.

There’s something bubbling inside of her, accompanying her impending climax. It is rising ever stronger, making her quiver. Her head is strangely clear, if empty, and only a few minutes later she comes hard. Her whole body is trembling with an orgasm of a magnitude she’s not known before. It is then that her tears stop falling.

It’s also when her eyes meet Mina’s dead ones directly. Up until now she’s managed to avoid them.

_What have I done?_

Something else cracks, breaks beyond repair. What has been bubbling inside of her now breaks free, and she throws up violently. She barely manages to get away from Mina’s corpse in time. 

After she is done throwing up, Annie wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.  
She must return to the others. 

Annie does not shed another tear—she does not dare—nor will she do so ever again.   
She makes this a promise to her friend. Her one and only true friend; the one whom she’s just violated in the worst possible way there is.

The taste of bile on her lips and tongue, mixed with that of the sickeningly sweet, metallic stench of blood, death, and decay, she gives her friend, her love, Mina Carolina, one last salute.

She does not close Mina’s eyes. She leaves them open as a reminder. For herself, and for the world. But mostly for herself.

On her way back to Headquarters, she stops to pick up Marco’s gear. It might come in handy one of these days.

She salutes him as well.  
Marco was one of the very few who’d always been nice to her.  
He, too, did not deserve to die like this.

She does not close his eyes either.

 

_None of this was part of the plan._


End file.
